Swimming Lessons
by Captain Frankle
Summary: In which Sherlock has to attend swimming lessons with his school only to meet a boy who's willing to give up his dignity for him. Includes floats, missing towels and a bit of naked John.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock hated swimming.

He hated physical exercise in general: what was the point of running around, getting all sweaty, burning energy that he hardly had to burn. Surely there were more important things to do? PE may be needed by those who decided to spend their free time collecting excess fats around their bodies but Sherlock was (fortunately) one of the lucky ones who never seemed to put on weight. It probably had something to do with the fact that despite being a teenage boy he hardly ate, but it still made PE all the more pointless.

He had tried to get Mycroft to write him a note. He was an adult, he could vouch for his 16-year-old brother. But no, the smug bastard made him do this pointless lesson anyway. It was probably because he wanted to make Sherlock suffer as he had when he was at school (despite the fact that Sherlock knew he had never done a PE lesson in his life).

And that's why he hated that he was now stood at the edge of the local swimming pool, his classmates all gathered round, all trying to push each other into the icy depths and laughing at the ridiculousness of their tiny school swimming speedos that they were all subjected to wear. What idiots.

Sherlock peered over the side of the water, swallowing the small lump that had formed in his throat and hoping that this would all be over with quickly. He hated these lessons at the best of times but the rota for what sports they would be doing in lessons had switched; a whole term of being submerged into the water and forced to swim to the bottom to pick up a plastic brick.

Looking around, he spotted the teacher, a tall willowy woman with white hair and the standard yellow and red shorts and polo shirt of the pool life guards.

Hair colour suggested late 50s but depth of wrinkles could mean early sixties. Small pupils dictate tiredness, perhaps from an argument with her long time husband if the lack of ring and small band of white skin on her ring finger are anything to go by. Slept at a friend's house in their guest room last night. Hard and unfamiliar mattress, shown by her stiff posture and the lack of neck rubbing that would be common if sleeping on a sofa.

Dull.

'Right boys,' she said, her voice masking any trace of the deductions that Sherlock had previously made, 'We need to get you into groups. I'll ask you individually about your previous swimming experience and place you according to that. When I call your name on the register, please come here. Anderson.'

The rat-faced boy walked up to the teacher, smugly telling her that he had been having lessons since he was 4, despite the fact that he had the beginnings of a beer belly forming, quite impressive for a year 11. Sherlock hated that boy with a passion. He was so unintelligent, prejudice and such a bully it was hard to believe that he was real. And yet here he was.

Other boys in Sherlock's class were called up to the teacher, all stating their swimming abilities. Finally, 'Holmes' was called from the register.

'I've never had a lesson before,' he deadpanned, giving the teacher his best blank face as he towered over her. He was a bit of an awkward teenager to say the least, all skin and bones and not yet growing into his long limbs.

'Oh. Ok, go in the first lane and wait for my instructions.'

Sherlock did as he was told; he didn't want another lecture from his parents about how they'd send him to another school if he argued with a teacher again. He walked to the first lane where a small, mouse-like boy was holding onto the side like if he didn't he would instantly be dragged under. Sherlock didn't know his name; it wasn't important.

Cautiously, he lowered his body into the water, hissing slightly as the cool water rippled against his skin. However, by the time his shoulders were submerged into the pool he was used to the sensation. Just as he was getting prepared to dunk his head into the water, a tidal wave of water washed over him, making him well and truly wet.

Looking to the source of the splash, the face of a blonde boy emerged from the water. He smiled at Sherlock.

'Sorry about that,' he said, swimming to hang onto the side of the pool, 'I thought it was better to get it over with.'

He nervously rubbed the back of his head and chuckled a little bit. Sherlock frowned at this boy. He was in his class. Judging from his body (muscular but small, compact was a good word) he was a natural athlete: what was he doing in Sherlock's lane?

'Are you in the right lane?' Sherlock asked, watching as the boy smiled a little more cautiously.

'Yeah, I am,' he said, pulling his head away from the side while holding onto it with his hands, 'I like sport but I've never gotten into swimming. I don't like thinking about how many people have already been in this pool.'

He shivered a little which made Sherlock's lips twitch a bit. John turned to face Sherlock fully and then extended a hand.

'John Watson.'

'Sherlock Holmes,' he said after eyeing the hand warily.

'No need to be suspicious mate, unlike all my friends, I won't try to dunk you or anything.'

John sent Sherlock a reassuring smile while funnily enough did make Sherlock feel better.

'Right, lane 1, you get the floats,' the instructor said, tossing them all a blue rectangular float, 'I need you to hold on to the float and kick your legs till you reach the other end.'

'This is so patronizing,' John whispered to Sherlock as he positioned himself.

'She just needs to take out the frustration from her failing marriage on teenage boys, it's nothing to get embarrassed about,' Sherlock whispered back, earning a puzzled look from John. They kicked off the wall but the pair positioned themselves so they were next to each other, the other boy swimming out in front, desperate to get out of the first lane.

'Oh... do you know her then?' John asked awkwardly.

Sherlock sensed John's discomfort.

'No, I deduced it,' he said, his long legs having to kick a little faster than he thought to keep up with John's obviously powerful ones, 'It's quite simple really.'

A pause.

'What can you deduce about me?'

Sherlock looked at John's face. The water from the boy in front's legs splashed a little, causing small droplets to splatter all over his face and his eyes were bright with curiosity.

Well...he asked for it.

'John Watson, you go to St Hamish's School for boys, your body suggests that you take regular trips to the gym as well as partaking in various school clubs but those have recently been put on hold due to a leg injury caused by the sport. Due to the nature of the injury I would say that it was in a rugby game. You've been recommended to continue with PE lessons, especially swimming due to the slightly more relaxing nature of the sport and not for your previously stated reasons. Anyone who jumps into a pool obviously has previous experience in the sport. You attend St Hamish's because you can't afford to attend the other private schools in the area, shown by the slightly frayed drawstring on your standard school issue swimwear. Conclusion? Second hand.'

Sherlock looked at John's face. It was flushed slightly, but there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.

'That...was amazing,' he breathed.

'Really?' Sherlock asked, slightly bemused at the uncommon reaction.

'Well, yeah! You could tell all that about me a glance? That's fantastic!'

'That's not what people normally say.'

'Oh yeah, what do they normally say?'

'Piss off.'

* * *

><p>The rest of the lesson went without any incidents minus Anderson pretending to drown, only to kick the side of the pool, scream, swallow a load of pool water and start to choke (Sherlock found this very amusing while John scolded him with a smile).<p>

The pair continued to talk about their lives while continuously swimming relaxed lengths. Sherlock decided that lane one wasn't that that bad at all. After finishing their lesson, the gaggle of school boys all hauled themselves out of the pool and into the changing rooms. Each went to a separate shower, slinging their towels over the door of their cubicle while continuing the standard male banter that Sherlock found terribly mundane. Sherlock and John continued talking until they walked into their own cubicle, choosing ones next to each other.

While in the shower, Sherlock considered his new friendship (if you could call it that) with John Watson. No-one had ever bothered to try and befriend him before so he didn't really have any data to compare with. After washing his hair thoroughly and then thinking about the boy in the shower next door, Sherlock turned off the water and reached for his towel.

Shit. It was gone.

Sherlock groaned loudly and slumped against the door. He bet it was Anderson and his neanderthal friends. They always had it out for him.

'Sherlock, you ok mate?' he heard from next door.

'They've taken my towel John,' Sherlock said, letting out another groan as he realized he'd have to walk through the changing rooms naked. So much for his self-esteem.

There was silence from his friend and then another towel was thrown over the top of the dividing wall. Sherlock caught it in his hands and turned it over for a while. It was a light lilac colour and smelt of washing powder, unlike Sherlock's own towel that always smelt like a new shop (he swore they never actually washed anything in his house, just replaced it with an identical copy).

'John, I can't take this,' Sherlock said, realizing that it would now be John walking around in the nude.

'No worries Sherlock, Just give it back later. I'm almost dry anyway.'

Sherlock felt the towel. Judging by the dampness, it was obvious that John had just used it to dry his hair a little bit.

'Er, thanks John. I'll...give it back...later,' Sherlock said, awkwardly wrapping the huge towel around his shoulders.

'No problem,' came the voice from the other side of the wall.

Sherlock made his way back to his locker, retrieved his clothes and made his way to the changing area. He put his briefs on before taking the towel off his shoulders to avoid any embarrassment. He had never been interested in the going ons of his body but that didn't mean he was comfortable with other people seeing it.

'So freak, where'd you pikey that towel from?' Anderson sneered as he tried to tower over Sherlock in his standard school shirt and baggy trousers.

'None of your business Anderson,' Sherlock spat, 'I do feel that I need to get some revenge somehow but I feel that it'll be enough when your girlfriend finds out about how one Sally Donovan from Hadenfield Girls School has been cleaning your carpets.'

'W-what?' Anderson spluttered, leaving Sherlock with a very smug grin.

'Well, I don't know what else she must be doing when her knees look like that,' he drawled.

Anderson looked like he was going to punch Sherlock in the face until a loud voice made them stop.

'Gentlemen, please, calm down.'

Sherlock turned to look at the source of the voice and tell them to mind their own business, only to flush and widen his eyes when he realized John was stood in front of him. Stark naked. He averted his eyes.

Anderson opened and closed his mouth like a fish and, once he finally realized that he didn't have anything intelligent to say, walked away with an air of shame.

'Honestly, we're old enough not to have these childish fights,' John said, turning to go to his locker and retrieve his clothes, giving Sherlock a nice view of his rear. When the boy turned back round, Sherlock avoided his eyes, body and general direction and continued to get changed, hoping that the fluttery feeling in his stomach wasn't visible.

Unfortunately, John decided to dump his stuff next to Sherlock's and proceeded to get dressed next to him.

'Anderson is such a douchebag,' John muttered, 'Sorry about your towel.'

'It's fine,' Sherlock said quickly, wanting to move on from the whole topic of towels, 'Thanks.'

He looked up to see John smiling at him and he found himself smiling back.

'One sec mate, your hair looks a bit odd,' John said, taking his hands and running them gently over Sherlock's damp curls. Sherlock panicked a bit at the touch but forced himself not to pull back. Once he relaxed a little, he realized that it wasn't that bad. It was almost...good.

'That's better,' John said quietly, pulling his hands away and smiling at Sherlock again. It was at this point that the dark haired boy realized how close they were stood and how little clothing they were wearing, a thought that made his stomach flop over.

Sherlock turned away from the blonde boy who had leant him a towel and saved him from a nasty confrontation with Anderson and carried on dressing himself.

**A/N: Thanks for reading guys :) If you want more, let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

Over the course of the next week, Sherlock found himself watching the curious blonde boy from his swimming lesson. He never talked to him: they weren't in any lessons together except PE and unlike Sherlock, John had friends to hang out with. Not that Sherlock really minded. He was perfectly content with watching him from afar. Plus, he didn't want to run into Anderson again.

Sherlock was furious to discover that the slimy git had taken to hanging on the edge of John's friendship group, probably so he didn't get humiliated by the compact teenager again.

Sherlock found himself blushing whenever he saw the back of John: he just couldn't get the image of the boys naked backside out of his minds eye, despite the fact that since that day it had been covered by fading school trousers. It seemed like that small exchange in the changing rooms was affecting his observation abilities.

He thought about John Watson a lot. More than is considered 'normal' by 'ordinary' people's standards. Then again, he had never been considered either of those things. He worried slightly for his sanity; what the hell was going on? Sherlock hated having questions that he didn't have the answers to and it seemed that John was just that: an unanswered question, waiting for Sherlock to pull it apart then reassemble it to make sense.

The next time they had a lesson, Sherlock found himself mysteriously nervous. Not because he was worried about being awkward with John (he was Sherlock Holmes, he REFUSED to feel awkward about ANYTHING (Despite the fact that he acted considerably awkward on a daily basis)), but because he couldn't think of any scenario that could top last week's lesson.

It was all now going to be one big disappointment.

'Y'ok?' John said, lowering himself into the pool instead of going for the bombing approach from last week.

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, his chin dipping into the water slightly. He had been in there for a while already, preferring to get used to the sensation than be pushed in.

'Good,' John said, tentatively beginning to tread water, 'Any idea what we're going to be doing this lesson?'

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

'I hope it involves floats,' he muttered, remembering how last week, not having to use his arms had made it a lot easier to talk to John than having to splash around.

John laughed a little bit.

'I thought they were a tad patronizing,' John smiled, stroking his chin in thought as if it would make him appear more intelligent.

'Well yes, they were, but they stop you from going under so I won't complain too much,' Sherlock said, turning back to face the other boy. His hair was still dry from not jumping in and his eyes had that permanent sparkle that Sherlock had noticed last week.

Without warning, Sherlock lifted his arm from under the water, bringing a tidal wave of pool over John's head. John spluttered a quick string of curses as his head overcame the cold shock, which soon turned into a laugh.

'Well done Sherlock,' he panted, clinging to the side of the pool, 'Didn't know you had it in you!'

'You were obviously trying to avoid getting wet for fear of the cold water,' Sherlock explained in his 'honestly' voice, 'I only sped up the process you would have eventually engaged in.'

Suddenly, a splash came from nowhere, startling Sherlock and making John burst into a huge fit of giggles. Sherlock frowned, but at the sight of seeing a giggling John, he decided that he'd try to exact his revenge.

'Right, that's it,' Sherlock said, preparing to launch an attack until a voice came from the other side of the pool.

'Boys, please, no splashing,' cried the swimming instructor, 'Your floats are on the side, do a few lengths while I sort these boys out.'

John and Sherlock did as they were told, grabbing their floats and lazily kicking their legs in an unspoken no-splash truce. Despite the fact Sherlock had never had a lesson in his life, he seemed to be getting the hang of this swimming business. It was just a simple matter of kicking your legs and not putting your mouth and nose under the water for extended periods of time.

It helped that he could probably walk on his toes everywhere except the deep end.

As they completed their third length of the pool, the pair heard a loud shout of dismay and looked over to the advanced swimmers lane: Greg Lestrade, one of John's friends, had somehow acquired Anderson's trunks and was threatening to shove them into the filter.

'John, why do you hang out with such idiots?' Sherlock asked. It was a question that had been bothering the dark-haired boy all week, and Sherlock really didn't like having a question that he didn't know the answer to.

'They're not that bad,' John started, looking over to the other boys, 'They can just be a bit stupid sometimes is all.'

'John, they're so dull,' Sherlock muttered, only to realize that John had a deepening frown on his face.

'They're my friends Sherlock, I can choose them for myself,' John muttered, angrily speeding up his leg movements.

'Ha, you seem to have very poor taste,' Sherlock said, more out of his bitterness that it wasn't him earning the defense of John Watson.

'Well,' John said, anger rising in his voice, 'Why don't YOU tell me who to be friends with if you know what's best for me.'

And with that, John increased his kicking tenfold and swam away from Sherlock. Sherlock sighed; why did this whole friendship thing have to be so complicated. Everyone had always told him that he should always tell the truth. Sherlock knew that he could be tactful on rare occasions, but it wasn't something he exercised on a regular basis.

And now it could cost him a friend.

He caught up with John who was panting, his body obviously not ready for the sudden need of speed. Sherlock lowered to the same height as John and leant against the pool.

'I can't pick friends for you,' Sherlock said, staring off at the other side of the pool, 'It's not like I have any myself.'

Sherlock felt John's eyes on him at that moment and chanced a look down. What met his eyes was an expression that conveyed a mixture of sadness and confusion.

'Sherlock, I'm your friend,' John said, 'That means you must have great taste. Unlike me.'

Sherlock realized that John was making a small jibe at his own personality and let himself smile a little bit.

'Well, you're certainly the best friend I've ever had, even if your taste isn't quite as excellent as mine' Sherlock said. He meant it. He normally didn't even get past the introduction stage.

'I'm honored,' John said, a little sarcastically, but with a genuine smile on his face, 'I get what you said. It's just, I've been friends with them for so long, I can't imagine what would happen if I left.'

Sherlock sighed. 'I get what you mean. Sorry I insulted them. Even if they are imbeciles.'

John laughed a little at that and, knowing that this had been the closest to an apology he would give, Sherlock laughed along.

'YOU TWO, GET SWIMMING,' came the shout of the instructor and the startled boys kicked their legs with renewed vigor, sharing a smile as they propelled themselves down the length of the pool.

* * *

><p>Fortunately, the swimming lesson soon came to an end. Sherlock realized that time seemed to go by faster when he was with John (despite the fact he knew that it was impossible). They made their way to the changing rooms, taking the shower cubicles they had taken last week. As soon as he was under the water, Sherlock began scrubbing the chlorine from his hair.<p>

Despite the fact that swimming was becoming slightly more tolerable, the thing that Sherlock still hated was the disinfectant-like smell of the pool that seemed to cling to him hours after his session. It was annoying.

After washing his hair thoroughly several times, Sherlock exited the shower. As Sherlock walked past the neighboring cubicle, he couldn't help but take a deep breath as he passed John Watson's towel. It was a different towel from last week; a red one, complete with fraying corners and faded patches in the middle, perhaps from being sat on repeatedly at the beach. As he inhaled, the smell from last week was present and, thanks to it saving him from a potentially embarrassing moment, it was now a smell he associated with safety. He knew it was a bit weird for him to go around smelling other boy's towels but he found he just couldn't resist that homely smell.

Dragging himself away, Sherlock emptied his locker and proceeded to change. His nose picked up the John-towel-smell and he smiled when he realized that John was stood next to him, towel loose around his hips and clothes in hand.

'Alright,' he said, proceeding to pull his trousers from the particularly haphazard pile of clothes.

'Fine, thank you,' Sherlock said, turning his attention away from John's toned chest. He had seen it for a whole half an hour in the water, and yet it was so much better when not distorted under the surface.

'Good,' John said, smiling and turning back to his clothes. Soon, the two were dressed and making their way out of the changing rooms. Suddenly, John pulled Sherlock round and looked at him for a second. Sherlock's breath came out of his body in one big burst of surprise, ruffling the dry tips of John's hair a little.

He'd heard of moments like these.

Yet instead of cupping Sherlock's face, standing on tip-toe and leaning in to press his lips against the other boys, John raised a hand, gently tousling Sherlock's hair back into place, just like last week.

'That's better,' he smiled, turning on his heel and making his way from the changing rooms, leaving Sherlock to stare at his retreating back.

**A/N: Thanks for all the awesome feedback guys! I'm so happy that liked this enough to want more! I love this story so much!**


	3. Chapter 3

'Clear out the way Sherlock,' John cried as he half-ran, half-limped his way to the pools edge before launching himself into the air. He was suspended for about 2 seconds, his smile widening as he saw Sherlock's look of shock: he was heading for a collision. Before he even had time to take a breath, Sherlock had been pushed under the water by the small, yet surprisingly heavy John.

The contact of the body against his drifted away and Sherlock bought his head to the surface, the need to refill his lungs overcoming any want to remain dignified. As expected, John was holding onto the side of the pool, his laughter echoing around the relatively quiet building and the rise and fall of his chest creating ripples in the already disturbed water.

'What *gasp* was *gasp* that for?' Sherlock breathed, words tumbling from his lips.

'I TOLD you I'd get you back!' John laughed.

It was true. He did say he'd get him back for taking the tea that John kept in a flask and replacing it with coffee to see John's reaction.

Sherlock had had a weird week. Despite always hanging around where no-one would find him during lunch, everyday, John had managed to track him down for the last half of lunch every day. They didn't really do anything, just sat, enjoying each others company. Occasionally, Sherlock would deduce a passing student or member of staff, all of which made John burst into giggles, all the while praising Sherlock's observational abilities.

Sherlock found he quite liked having a friend, someone to share stories with, to smile at and be praised by. He didn't know why, but Sherlock by the end of the week, Sherlock had found himself craving John's company. The want to always be by him, to touch him, it was almost too much.

But he endured it. Because it was John.

John's laughter subsided and the two began to swim some lazy lengths beside each other. It was peaceful, having the water cut either side of their bodies as they slowly made their way from one end of the pool to the other.

Well, it was peaceful. Until Sherlock saw a familiar ginger head and rounded figure observing him & his friend from the benches. He looked ridiculous: tweed suit, infuriatingly smug expression and to top it all off, he had been forced to wear the blue bags to cover his shoes. A sudden flame of annoyance began in Sherlock's stomach. How dare he show up here?

'Damn you Mycroft,' he muttered under his breath, instantly becoming stiff in his strokes and keeping his eyes on the ceiling.

'What is it?' John asked his friend, looking in the direction Sherlock had been shooting daggers in, 'It's that guy isn't it? The ginger one who is staring at you?'

Sherlock felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Why couldn't his brother leave him alone?

'He's no-one John, it's not an issue,' Sherlock said, trying to swim away from that scrutinizing stare.

John swam beside him in silence.

'Do you like him Sherlock?' John asked quietly. Sherlock stopped. He managed to swallow some of the pool, causing him to choke a little. John patted him on the back, each point of contact sparking something inside Sherlock which made him shiver slightly.

'Jesus, try not to die mate,' John said once the coughing had ended, 'It...I don't know, it looked like you liked him, what with the blush and the staring and then acting all shy.'

Sherlock saw the logic behind John's reasoning, but it didn't stop his bubbling anger.

'Why,' Sherlock said through gritted teeth, 'Would I ever feel that way about my brother?'

John's face paled.

'Oh,' he said, all other words dying in his throat.

They continued swimming for a while until John decided to ask yet another question.

'Sherlock, are you gay?' John asked, 'I mean, it's ok if you are, but you never talk about girls or anything like that.'

'I don't believe in these 'labels' John,' Sherlock retorted, a little annoyed at all slightly awkward questions being put to him by John.

'Oh,' John said, and they carried on, each boy wondering about the other.

* * *

><p>They completed the lesson in quiet with John occasionally pointing out the flaws in Sherlock's arm movements and Sherlock told him that he'd do what he liked as long as he wasn't drowning.<p>

When the time came for them to get changed, Sherlock marched up to his brother, feeling his stomach swell with pride when he realized that despite the period of slightly awkward silence earlier, John was following.

'Why hello Sherlock, what a surprise,' Mycroft said, sending Sherlock one of his emotionless smiles, 'I see your swimming has improved tremendously!'

'Can it Mycroft, I know you're really here to spy on me,' Sherlock said, folding his arms and looking at John to see if he was doing the same. Much to his frustration, John just seemed to be sending a disappointed look in Sherlock's direction.

'Hello Mycroft, I'm John, Sherlock's best friend,' John smiled while holding out a wet hand to shake. Mycroft took it.

'Ah yes, John, Sherlock's told us all about you,' Mycroft told the boy, causing Sherlock's ears and face to turn a little pink and his hands raise in protest, 'He does seem very fond of you.'

'I'm very fond of him too,' John remarked, looking up at Sherlock with a smile, stopping all of the taller boys previous arm waving.

Sherlock swore he could've melted on the spot.

'Well, it seems I must leave now,' Mycroft uttered, looking at his watch, 'You're getting what you wanted Sherlock,' Sherlock knew this was just a little bit of sibling jealousy seeping into the conversation and so happily ignored the jab, 'It was nice meeting you John, you must come by the house sometime.'

'Oh, yes, that would be good,' John said, looking to Sherlock for permission.

'Yes...you must,' Sherlock responded, his stomach bubbling in anticipation and for once thankful for his older brother. Mycroft has obviously noticed Sherlock's little 'crush' (if it could be called that) straight away. He always had a knack for match-making.

'Right, well now that that's settled, I'll leave you two to get changed. Goodbye!'

Mycroft walked back through the visitors entrance and Sherlock could feel the smugness radiating from his body. The pair of teenagers walked into the changing rooms to find it entirely deserted.

'God damn it, Greg was meant to wait for me,' John muttered, sparking a tiny flame of jealousy in Sherlock: why was Greg given the privilege of spending extra time with John?

'It's no bother, I can take you home,' Sherlock offered.

John's face brightened up and he agreed.

Once they had retrieved their towels, they hit the showers. While rinsing his hair, Sherlock heard a noise. It started off very quiet, and then slowly grew in volume, from a humming sound to the murmuring of words. John was singing in the shower?

'That's a nice song John,' Sherlock said, pressing his hand against the wall separating the two boys. John made a squealing noise, and then recovered.

'Jesus Sherlock, I forgot you were there! You're so quiet,' John trailed off and Sherlock could almost imagine him shaking his head as he tried to regain his composure, 'And yeah, it was a song I heard earlier on the radio. I can't seem to get it out of my head.'

Sherlock smiled. John was an interesting person and yet he still participated in listening to mainstream radio with the masses.

'It was good,' Sherlock said, removing his hand from the barrier and resuming his hair washing, 'You can sing more if you like.'

There was silence for a few moments and then John began to sing again, quietly at first but then crescendoing as he realized Sherlock wasn't going to laugh at him.

'Written in graffiti on a bridge in a park

'Do you ever get the feeling that you're missing the mark?'

It's so cold, it's so cold

It's so cold, it's so cold'

Sherlock really listened to John's voice. It wasn't as deep as his was (minus the occasional embarrassing squeaks that Sherlock seemed to produce at the most annoying of ocassions) and yet he managed to hit all the notes well. He didn't have a singing star voice, but it still made Sherlock feel like he was listening to something far more dirty than a mere pop song.

'Written up in marker on a factory sign

'I struggle with the feeling that my life isn't mine'

It's so cold, it's so cold

It's so cold, it's so cold

See the arrow that they shot, trying to tear us apart

Took the fire from my belly and the beat from my heart

Still I won't let go

Still I won't let go

You

Ooohooh

'Cause you do

Oh you, use your heart as a weapon

And it hurts like heaven'

John stopped after this and Sherlock could hear him trying to regain his breath.

'I don't know the second verse,' John admitted and the sound of the shower halted. It was only then that Sherlock remembered they were in a public shower in a swimming pool and that other people would be in there soon.

He turned the lever for the shower and left, almost knocking into the wet body of John on the way out. Both of them were slightly red in the face and they walked to the changing area together in silence.

Sherlock emptied his locker and dumped his clothes on the bench, with John doing the same, just as they had been doing for the past two weeks.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock watched John change, his eyes on the towel low on his hips, scaling up the masterpiece that was John's chest to his face. His lips were set in a hard line as he tried to place each button through it's hole with slightly slippery hands.

Sherlock didn't know why, but he decided at that moment, that stupid perfect ridiculous catastrophe of a moment to lean down.

'John,' he whispered, his face level with his friends.

John look up and his face softened slightly, all previous signs of frustration gone.

'Yeah,' he said, a finger still fiddling with the button.

Sherlock took the chance. He leaned it and pressed his lips against John's own. His eyes closed of their own accord, just enjoying having this moist mouth pressed against his. It was as if everything he had ever felt towards John made sense: all these tiny, insignificant moments, all the time spent together, the feeling he always got whenever the other was near, it all made sense. After a moment, he opened his eyes.

John pulled away, eyes wide and face flushed in shame.

Shit, thought Sherlock.

'John, I-,' Sherlock said, but when he couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence, he just watched in horror as the other boy swiftly pulled on his trousers and shoved his feet into his shoes without even bothering to put on socks.

As John was just slinging his bag over his shoulder, buttons haphazardly fastened into place, Sherlock shouted at him, needing to see his face.

'JOHN.'

The blonde boy turned, a look of distraught on his face.

'What?' he asked, a little harshly.

'...Do you still want a lift?' Sherlock asked weakly, already knowing the answer but wanting to ask for lack of a better thing to say. He had to try to hold on.

'No,' John said, a little more kindly, 'I...I'll walk, ok? I need to think...see you soon.'

He turned and with a small wave of his hand, John was gone.

'Well,' Sherlock said, laughing bitterly to himself as he slumped against the nearby wall, 'I'm an idiot.'

Sherlock wasn't bitter because he had lost his only friend.

He wasn't bitter because he would probably never find anyone like John again.

He was bitter because John let him think for a moment that maybe he had done the right thing.

Because for that one moment, just before they pulled away, Sherlock was sure that John had kissed back.

**A/N: Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger! And sorry for the slow update: all that's in my head at the moment is fitness and GCSEs. Sorry! Brownie points to whoever can guess the song that John is singing!**

**Thanks for reading :)**


	4. Chapter 4

To say that Sherlock had had a rough week would be an understatement. This suffering, this feeling of rejection and bitterness was why he had always avoided friendships in the first place.

After the disastrous episode in the changing rooms, Sherlock had picked himself up, pulled on the rest of his clothes and walked out of the building looking as if nothing had happened. He walked to the sleek, black car waiting for him and entered with all his awkward teenage limbs.

As the car pulled away from the curb, his mind was blank. The lives of the rest of the world were playing before his eyes as he passed them in the car, but he didn't think a single thing.

He stepped out of the car and walked to the house, not thanking the driver as was routine, took out his key and opened the door. He was greeted by a slightly overly cheerful Mycroft, and yet as soon as his brother looked upon his face, his smile faltered.

Not wanting a confrontation just yet, Sherlock walked up to his room, his feet heavy on every single step of the staircase. As he closed the door and collapsed into his bed, he sighed. And then the tears began to fall.

He mourned the loss of his first real friend, the loss of his potential happiness and most of all he wept for the loss of what could've been, what John had led him to believe could've been a possibility.

Pulling himself together, the red-faced teenager forced the tears to stop. He was Sherlock Holmes: he was a freak, an outcast. And now he had been put in his place. Someone like John would never want Sherlock. It had just been an embarrassing misunderstanding, one that would not render him this helpless again.

Sherlock was suddenly filled with anger. How dare John turn him into this. This snivelling, broken boy. It wasn't right.

And so Sherlock steeled himself. He ignored the flutter of his stomach every time he looked at John. He ignored the urge to turn around and smile at the blonde teen whenever he felt his eyes on him. And he defiantly ignored the sinking feeling in his chest when he thought about the next swimming lesson.

Because he was Sherlock Holmes. He didn't need anyone.

* * *

><p>'Right everyone,' the swimming instructor shouted as the rabble of boys on the side of the pool tried to throw in a very tired looking Lestrade, 'Today we have a new student in our class.'<p>

Sherlock had his back turned to the rest of the class and was looking out the window at the interesting foliage outside. In truth, he was trying everything he could to avoid eye contact with John.

The boy had caught him staring at him as they were getting changed, leading to some mumbled apologies and very red faces.

Well, Sherlock wasn't paying attention to the class until he felt a very feminine hand on his shoulder.

'Hey Sherly, where've you been hiding?' came a voice he knew only too well.

'Hello Irene, Mycroft got you spying on me eh?' he questioned without turning around.

He heard her gasp and could see her facial expression turn into one of exaggerated shock in his mind's eye.

'When have I ever done such a thing?'

Sherlock turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. She was clad in a standard swimming costume, complete with complicated straps and a huge, exposing hole on her back. Her brown hair was pulled back into a neat bun (which Sherlock had decided he wanted to ruin the moment he saw it) and a substantial amount of make-up on her face.

'Waterproof?' Sherlock asked.

'Of course,' the smiling girl replied, 'What else would you expect from me?'

Sherlock noticed their close proximity and the fact that all the boys in the class were currently staring at his 'friend', probably wondering why she was talking to the freak.

'Nothing more,' Sherlock smiled.

The lesson started an somehow Irene had managed to worm her way into being in Sherlock's lane. It was now Sherlock's lane, not Sherlock and John's lane, despite the fact that said blonde was already swimming furious lengths up and down the pool.

'Is that the boy?' Irene asked as the pair of them swum lazy laps up and down the water.

'Yes,' Sherlock muttered, knowing that he couldn't keep anything from Irene, 'Did Mycroft tell you that as well?'

'Your brother merely said 'I wouldn't have expected blonde and muscly to be Sherlock's type, but then again, he was always full of surprises,' ' Irene said, giggling a little as Sherlock's cheeks were dusted with a faint pink.

'God damn you, you insufferable twat' he muttered under his breath, referring to Mycroft.

'How are you going to patch things up?' Irene asked.

'I'm going to ignore the problem and let John continue with his life,' Sherlock said while swimming a little bit faster out of frustration.

'Sherlock,' the brown-haired girl sighed, 'It's obvious that neither of you are happy with how things are. Even I could tell, and you know I'm not as observant as you are.'

Sherlock nodded. It was true. She wasn't as observant.

'Stop thinking that,' Irene said, batting Sherlock's arm playfully with her hand.

Despite Sherlock training himself not to show any emotions on his face, his skills were completely lost to Irene. She could read him like a book.

'I...I just don't know what to do,' Sherlock muttered as he floated on his back.

'Talk to him, he looks just as annoyed with the situation as you,' Irene remarked looking in the direction of John.

It was true. John was leaning against the side of the pool, his hands holding onto the side so tightly the green veins were beginning to bulge. He'd totally tired himself out in order to avoid any awkward confrontation.

'Yeah...' was the only reply Sherlock could come up with.

The lesson finished (not quick enough for Sherlock's tastes) and he said goodbye to Irene ('Tell my brother that next time he wants a spy he can bloody-well do it himself), making his way to the changing rooms on his own. He entered the shower and just stood under the spray for a long time. It was stinging slightly after being in the cool water of the swimming pool but he didn't care.

He contemplated talking to John. What would he say? How would he react? Had he told anyone about last week? The answer to the last question made Sherlock cringed.

He was taken out of his trance when he heard the water in the cubicle next to him switch off. John had been next to him the whole time and he hadn't even noticed? Sherlock let out a groan. The blonde exiting the showers probably meant he'd been in there for long enough.

Turning off the water, wrapping a huge towel around his shoulders and walking into the changing rooms, he was surprised to see the whole place deserted.

Except for John, the only other boy in there. Awkwardly, he skirted around the blonde, careful to not let himself into his eyeline.

'Trying to hide are you?' John said without turning around, pulling his trousers on over his striped green boxer shorts.

Sherlock felt like a child caught doing something he shouldn't.

'No?' he answered, but it sounded more like a question. John chuckled shyly.

'It's fine. I totally understand why you'd...avoid me,' John muttered, looking down at his hands for a moment.

'I don't want to ignore you John,' Sherlock said, regaining his composure slightly and collecting his clothes.

'Hmm.'

The two began to change in a slightly more companionable silence until John coughed.

'Yes John?' questioned Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

'I...' John started, then coughed a little more, 'I'm sorry for running off last week. I...I didn't mean to ruin everything.'

'It's fine John,' Sherlock said, a little bitterly, only to be cut off again by John.

'No, it's not fine. I was just so confused, I mean, it was the first time I'd been kissed by a guy,' John was starting to ramble now but Sherlock waited with bated breath for him to get to the point, 'And I'd always thought you were such an interesting guy. I mean, you're everything I want to be. Tall, dark, skinny as hell,' Sherlock raised his eyebrow yet again at that one, but let John carry on nonetheless, 'And I've missed you so much in the week that we haven't been together and I liked that kiss and now-'

'For God's sake John, get to the point,' Sherlock cried, feeling like his heart was about to burst from all the new information given to him by John. He took in the flushed complexion, the stumbling over words and knew everything he needed to know.

'Fine!' John yelled back, walking over to Sherlock, squeezing his eyes closed and pressing his entire mouth to Sherlock's own.

It felt...different to the first kiss. This one was desperate and needy and almost choreographed, whereas the one last week had been a bit of a sloppy affair. Sherlock pondered on the feelings, on the contact between him and John until John pulled back and huffed.

'Stop thinking you big git,' John said, pushing Sherlock lightly on the shoulder, 'I still need to get dressed. We don't want anyone coming in here and getting the wrong idea.'

'John, whatever idea they get will probably be the right idea,' Sherlock whispered, trying to provoke an embarrassed reaction from John.

'Hmm, I guess you're right,' John said, winking at Sherlock as he pulled his shirt over his head, taking the lanky boy off-guard and making him splutter slightly.

Once they'd gathered their belongings, they made their way outside, looking to all the world like a pair of average teenage boys (something that they definitely were not) and exited the building, shoulders bumping lightly against each other and faces set into bright grins.

**A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! If you're bored of waiting for more chapters, please read 'Replacement' by me. It's a bit more serious than this story but if you're getting bored of all the 'Sherlock comes home, John punches him, they kiss each other' stories then I suggest you read it. I worked hard to make it interesting!**

**Next update may or may not happen before I go to India on the 28th. But I'll try my hardest!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: Having a wank in public showers and hot boys kissing ahead.**

Sherlock shuffled nervously into the boys changing rooms, careful not to let anyone see his current 'problem'.

'This is ridiculous,' he thought, running towards his usual shower cubicle as soon as it was in sight and slamming the door behind him, 'I've seen John in his swimming trunks before, what makes it different this time?'

As soon as Sherlock double-checked that the door was locked, he looked down, groaning when he realized that there was indeed a very obvious erection between his legs. And his swimming shorts showed everything.

'This is all John's fault,' Sherlock muttered under his breath, 'If his body wasn't so damn appealing when exposed and soaked in chlorine, this wouldn't have happened.'

This was true: Sherlock hadn't had any problems seeing John's body in the previous weeks, even when he was stood in front of him stark naked that first week of the swimming lessons. Sherlock supposed his reaction to the blonde haired boy was centered around the fact that unlike those times, he now had claim to that body: the muscled torso, the full lips, his gorgeous arse.

Thinking about it only worsened Sherlock's problem further, creating a tent in his shorts. He knew what he had to do, every teenage boy did. He just couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

He stood there, an internal debate raging in his head. He realised his only option was A) Take care of this the mundane, human way, B) Walk out of the shower sporting a massive erection or C) Get John to take care of it seeing as it _was _his fault that SHerlock was in this state in the first place. B was not an option. C didn't look too promising either.

'This is so embarrassing,' he thought, as the need to touch overcame his sense of pride and he slipped his trunks down to his ankles, 'Wanking in a public shower. It's a good thing I normally spend so much time in here thinking otherwise this might be a bit suspicious.'

Bracing himself with one hand on the wall of the shower, he grasped his penis, hissing slightly as he did so. The battle was half-way to being won, now all he needed was some mental stimulus.

He thought of John. His body, dripping with water, fresh out of the pool. John in the shower cubicle, doing exactly the same thing as Sherlock was but thinking of the dark-haired genius. That was a good image. John doing this to Sherlock, touching him all over with his strong hands, flicking, pinching, licking his skin.

Sherlock let his imagination go into overload, moving his hand quickly to get this over with. It didn't take it long.

The vision of John sweating underneath Sherlock was what sent him over the edge. Wiping his bodily fluids off of the side of the cubicle, he almost tripped over his own shorts, forgetting that they were round his ankles and his orgasm had almost resulted in losing the ability to stand up straight.

Recovering from his 'moment of weakness', as he decided to call it, Sherlock began to wash under the shower. His muscles felt heavy with shame, but he managed to clean himself up completely. He thought about John in the cubicle next to him; poor, unassuming John who had no idea that Sherlock had just masturbated while thinking of him. Sherlock hoped that he would never find out.

The pair had spent the week in each other's company, looking to all the world like a standard set of close friends. Yet in between tedious lessons and John keeping up with his busy social life, their time had been filled with lazy kisses on the edges of the school grounds and entwining hands down deserted corridors. They had decided that the world wasn't quite ready for them yet.

'I think everyone would go into shock if they found out that boring John Watson and the genius Sherlock Holmes were an item, don't you think?' as John had put it one day.

Sherlock loved it: the danger of being found, the final relief from the boredom that was threatening to choke him, the feeling of John's mouth moving against his.

The boy provided everything Sherlock needed, and he wasn't planning on letting him go anytime soon.

Their swimming lesson had started out as any other: the boys got changed in relative silence, walked out to the pool and clambered in. Irene had left their swimming lessons just as Sherlock had expected, with the teacher saying that she was just having a taster lesson (muttering under her breath about why on earth anyone would want to have a taster lesson with this class). They then began to do their usual lengths of the pool, John's limbs occasionally brushing against Sherlock's, leaving a small tingle in their wake.

It was after they left the pool that Sherlock's problem made an appearance. They had both climbed out of the pool, laughing at the fact that Anderson was being made to swim extra lengths for pulling one of the other boys into the pool and making him crack several of his teeth on the side.

Sherlock looked down at John laughing, only to stop dead. John was dripping with water; it was running down his chest, glistening in the fluorescent overhead lighting at the pool. Absentmindedly, John brushed a hand through his hair, disturbing yet more water lodged there which dripped down his forehead, looking a bit like sweat. John looked Sherlock right in the eyes and smiled.

Sherlock bit his lip. And then his trunks began to feel too tight.

He ran away from John as fast as he could, hearing John call after him but not paying attention.

Sherlock sighed as he replayed the event through in his head. Why was he acting like such a hormonal teenage boy? He'd been able to handle his desires before, so why was John Watson suddenly awakening the horny monster inside of the dark-haired genius?

Sighing again, Sherlock turned off the water, feeling pretty dirty despite the fact his body was now totally free from bacteria of any kind. Opening the cubicle door, he realized at that moment that he had gone into the shower so quickly, he had forgotten a towel.

Not wanting to put on his trunks again (he had used them to wipe up the mess on the shower wall after untangling them from around his ankles), he decided to chance it. Speed walking to his locker he was relieved to see that there was no-one in there except him.

'Fancy seeing you here,' came a voice from entrance of the showers. Sherlock turned, knowing that the voice belonged to John and was about to wave in greeting, then remembered his state of undress. He bought his hands over the area between his legs and turned back towards his locker door, hoping that John hadn't seen anything.

'Come on Sherlock, you've seen me like that before, it's my turn' John said, a sort of mock hurt lacing his voice yet a smirk on his lips. He knew Sherlock was uncomfortable and was exploiting his only weakness: his self-conciousness.

'That was by choice. You didn't have to lend me your towel,' said Sherlock, becoming frustrated when he realized that due to both his hands being occupied with covering himself from John, he couldn't open his locker door.

'Sherlock, it's no problem, your penis does not frighten me in any way,' teased John, his towel hanging low on his hips.

Sherlock licked his lips a little, trying not to make it obvious that he was staring. John merely raised an eyebrow then, without warning, leaned across Sherlock and opened his locker for him, pulling out a large fluffy towel and wrapping it round the dark-haired teenager's shoulders.

'Is that better?' John asked, securing the front of the towel around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock nodded, then before he could stop himself, leaned in and pressed his lips against John's. It was a short kiss, with both parties keeping their tongues to themselves, but it was still sweet.

John was first to part, smiling at the other occupant of the changing room and then walking over to a bench where his clothes were placed. Sherlock took his clothes from the locker and joined John who was sliding his boxers up his legs. Sherlock did the same, remembering that he couldn't stand in the changing rooms in a towel watching John forever.

Sherlock kept his peripheral vision on John, trying to watch him dress discreetly as he did up the buttons on his shirt.. He knew it was bad, he could already feel the blood rushing to his groin, but he couldn't help himself.

'You know, I can see you staring,' John said, winking in Sherlock's direction as he pulled one sock onto his foot.

'Don't you think that was the point?' Sherlock countered, a faint pink dusting his cheeks as he placed an arm on the bench beside his companion and leaned in. His breath brushed against John ear when he spoke again, 'Maybe if I stare, you'll get the point and kiss me.'

John didn't need to be asked twice. Grabbing the back of Sherlock's neck, he pulled their mouths together for a sloppy kiss. Finding the angle uncomfortable, Sherlock dove into John's lap, straddling him while John placed his hands on the thin waist in front of him, neither of them breaking the contact between their mouths. Sherlock's hands found their way into John's hair, threading themselves through and twisting pieces of it round his fingers.

John's tongue wormed it's way through a pair of cupid bow lips, playfully sliding over the inside of the mouth, making Sherlock emit a guttural moan. Pressing their bodies even closer together, the two of them continued swapping spit while their hands began to roam, each of them beginning to emit various noises and sounds depending on where they were touched.

They were so absorbed in their activities, neither noticed the rat-faced figure that entered the changing room until it was too late.

'WHAT?' came the cry of Anderson as he took in the sight of the partially dressed teenagers sucking each other's faces off.

'Fuck off Anderson, we're busy,' Sherlock shouted, breaking contact with John then bringing them back together with much more force than necessary. He heard Anderson's footsteps retreating and let himself smile a little in victory. It was only after a few seconds that he realized John had stopped moving.

Looking at his partner, he took in the wide eyes, open mouth, shocked expression, deciding the reason for this was because they had been found out.

'Anderson saw,' John croaked out.

'He did,' Sherlock said, pressing a kiss to John's neck. There was a moment where John relaxed, and then he tensed again.

'What are we going to do?' he asked, his chest rising and falling a little faster than it was a minute ago.

'Carry on with this?' Sherlock suggested, looking into John's eyes.

John frowned at Sherlock in disapproval.

'What if he tells?' John said, exasperation evident in his tone.

'It doesn't matter,' Sherlock said, taking John's face between the palms of his hands and bringing it towards his, 'Everyone was going to find out sooner or later. Rather being discovered by Anderson than by any of the even creepier teachers at school.'

'I guess,' John muttered, leaning against the wall behind him and bringing Sherlock with him. They both smiled at each other, and then Sherlock pressed his lips to John's once again.

This time, instead of being frozen in place, John kissed back, timidly but kissing all the same.

'This is going to be interesting,' Sherlock thought, before his thoughts were entirely consumed by the sandy-haired boy that had wormed his way into Sherlock's life.

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of update! I went to India, and then I was ill and couldn't move for 4 days and then I had to revise but chapter 5 is finished! One more chapter to go and then we're done! It's kind of sad really. As always, constructive criticism and praise is welcome in reviews. I'll try and wrap this story up before May, which will easier to do if I have motivation! And I hope you enjoyed this chapter. First time I've written anything vaguely sexual!**


	6. Chapter 6

John pushed his feet off the side of the pool, maneuvering his square, foam float towards the dark-haired boy sat in the middle of a rubber ring. As they came together, the two of them laced their fingers together and carried on drifting around the shallow end of the swimming pool. As it was the last lesson of swimming that term, the swimming instructor had decided that the boys had worked hard enough to play on the floats.

'Ok, would you rather give the swimming teacher a love bite, or lick all the way from Anderson's chin to his belly button?' John asked, his chest rising and falling with barely contained laughter as he thought up the most ridiculous scenario he could.

'That's a ridiculous question John, whenever would I have to choose between doing either of those things?' Sherlock asked, his face serious but his eyes filled with humour, 'I don't see why you insist on playing this ridiculous game.'

'It's hypothetical Sherlock, I know that neither of those things would happen,' John retorted, 'Now choose.'

The two of them had been playing rounds of 'Would you rather' on and off for the past week, with John asking Sherlock questions and (stupidly) expecting him to give a straightforward answer.

'Well, if I gave the teacher a love bite, I'm sure that her husband would notice and despite the fact that he is cheating on her he would still feel betrayed and I would be beaten up severely. Whereas if I licked Anderson, I would receive a few harsh words from not only him but the two girls that he has been seeing, resulting in them not only having a large cat fight but Anderson being in deep trouble too. So I'd have to pick Anderson, although because I will never have to choose between either of those events, the whole question is completely irrelevant' Sherlock finished, leaving John to shake his head.

'Unbelievable,' he muttered under his breath, 'I can't believe you manage to turn Would You Rather into a process of deduction.'

'You forget who you're talking to John,' Sherlock said, turning to the other boy and smiling. John smiled back.

'You're right, I forget you're not ordinary,' John said, sitting up on his float a little and looking into Sherlock's eyes, 'You're extraordinary.'

'John, you're doing that thing again.'

'What thing?'

'The thing where you are so romantic even I want to vomit.'

Sherlock's words were blunt but John could see the laughter behind them.

'You love it really,' John said, winking at Sherlock.

'That I do,' was the quiet reply.

Things had been going surprisingly good for the pair of boys. Of course Anderson had told everyone they knew about what he had unfortunately witnessed in the changing rooms, but they either ignored him or gave John a friendly pat on the back (no-one did that to Sherlock, but after realizing that he had a heart good enough for John Watson, they decided he must be alright and occasionally said a word to him in passing as opposed to avoiding him completely).

John knew that the idea of him and Sherlock would take some getting used to and he was glad that everyone had been so happy for them, but he always feared that his old friends held some kind of secret homophobia and that the kind words and congratulations were all fake. They tended to hold conversations involving small talk and no longer approached him asking if he wanted to join them at lunch or hang out after school. It was all a little bit weird for John, being the social butterfly he was, hanging out with someone as anti-social as Sherlock.

Just as John began to contemplate these thoughts again, he heard his name being called out from a few meters away. It was Greg, paddling his way over on a large frog float.

'Hey, John,' he had called again once he had finally caught the blonde's attention.

'Alright Greg,' John said, letting go of Sherlock's hand so he could turn and face the other at a more comfortable angle. He heard the other boy make a 'hmpf'-type sound but decided to be polite and ignore it.

'Yeah, good. Sherlock,' he said, nodding in the direction of said boy, only to receive a small grunt in reply, 'Yeah, well, just wanted to say congrats. Haven't seen you much lately. Never figured you for the tall, dark and handsome type but still.'

The pair of boys laughed while Sherlock remained in his rubber tyre, clearly jealous of Greg taking away John.

'Don't mind Sherlock,' John said after the laughter had died down, 'He's just jealous that you're taking me away from him. But him? Handsome? You have to be kidding.'

John was joking but Lestrade gave him a look that meant he knew John was secretly serious about Sherlock.

'Haha, yeah. Well I'll leave you to it,' he said, swimming off with the float and feeling a little like a third wheel, 'See you later John. I'll text you, ok?'

John put up a thumb and waved at Lestrade's retreating figure and then reached for Sherlock's hand again, pulling them closer together.

'There's no need to get jealous,' John said, bringing Sherlock's chlorine tipped fingers to his mouth and kissing them individually, 'You're the only one for me.'

There was a pause.

'You're doing it again,' Sherlock deadpanned, which John accepted as a sort-of apology.

'You two, stop that,' shouted the swimming instructor, 'Can't you read the sign? No petting in the swimming pool!'

The whole room erupted into laughter, making the two boys blush.

'We should save that till we get out of the pool,' John said, his voice low.

'Yes, I'm sure that the pool would be much happier if we saved them water and showered together,' Sherlock said, his eyes glinting.

'Bit soon for showering together don't you think Sherlock?' retorted John.

'It's nothing I haven't seen before.'

'...Not the point.'

The end

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Final little chapter to wrap everything up. Thanks to everyone who added this story to their alerts, favourites and took time to review. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Johnlock are so cute. Anyways, keep an eye out for other stories from me (I've got a lot planned for after exams) and possible updates I may make to this story. As always, thanks for reading and for now, goodbye!**


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